


Try to Convince Me That I'm Not Drowning

by IneffableTrajectory



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Depression, Disability, Drowning, Emetophobia, Flashbacks, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableTrajectory/pseuds/IneffableTrajectory
Summary: Alec tried to stifle the sob as it rose from his chest and swelled in his throat, but he couldn't. The wretched sound was torn from his trembling lips, quickly followed by a sharp inhale and muttered curses.
Relationships: Paul Coates & Alec Hardy, Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

> I stole the title from a Civil Wars song. The song doesn't relate to the story really at all, but I hear Joy Williams lovely haunting voice in my head every time I think of Alec having a water induced flashback. Sorry if the tags give away the theme, but I want everyone to stay safe and not continue if there's distressing content involved. As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. I'm still in a funk and this has been my first attempt at writing in a while. The initial idea hit me last night as I thought "What if Hardy tried to hide the fact that he cried himself to sleep some nights, from Paul?". So I wrote a bit, went to sleep, woke up and it became this. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Well. As much as you *can* enjoy a heaping helping of sadness and struggle.

The mattress squeaked as Alec's weight shifted atop it, it's springs making known their displeasure at having been disturbed at so late an hour. Or was it early now? Paul groaned, stretching out and grasping at Alec's slender frame. Alec trembled, nearly overwhelmed by his husband's gentle touch as he felt Paul start to trail lazy circles across his sweat slick back. Three years now and Paul still hadn't run off. 

What were the odds? Especially after the last six months.

Alec tried to stifle the sob as it rose from his chest and swelled in his throat, but he couldn't. The wretched sound was torn from his trembling lips, quickly followed by a sharp inhale and muttered curses. 'He loves you, you good for nothing, worthless sack of shit. Get it together. He already deserves more than this. More than you.' His body betrayed him by shaking harder.

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" Paul asked, voice thick from sleep and heavy with concern. Alec felt the mattress shift again, heard it's high pitched cacophony as Paul budged up as near to him as he could get. Alec didn't respond. "Sweetheart? Alec?!? Please, love, talk to me, or here, squeeze my hand and let me know you can at least hear me, yeah?" Paul begged as he gently scooped Alec's cool, slender hands into his own thick, warm ones. Alec noted that Paul somehow sounded further way now and he silently berated himself. He willed his breathing to even out. Willed the tears to stop pouring out of his traitorous eyes. Willed his whip thin body to stop shaking like a willow reed on a riverbank.

Oh, God. The river. Always the bloody, damned river.

"'M-m sorry!" He managed to stammer out as he shot out of bed suddenly and tried to make it to the bathroom. He only made it a few feet before he collapsed and was sick on himself, in his hands and on the floor. That was further than he made it last week, though. Last week he had woken up gasping and choking and retching, having been sick in his sleep. Acrid bile ran down his face and hot, shame filled tears had bitten at his eyes then too. The linens had needed changing and washing, but he could only sit on the sofa and sob quietly as Paul did so.

"Oh, beloved, come here, let's get you cleaned up." Paul cooed sweetly as he knelt in front of Alec with a damp flannel and a clean, dry towel. He had forgotten his crutches, forgotten his whole entire situation, and now here he was; crumpled in his own sick, unable to keep his eyes focused enough to even see Paul properly. "No. No. Stop." Alec said as he made a weak swipe in Paul's direction in an attempt to wrest the flannel and towel from his hands.

Paul relented easily and handed over the towels with little resistance. He was just glad that Alec wasn't completely checked out. Or, so he thought. His hopes were soon dashed though as Alec simply clutched the items to his bare chest and stared blankly at a spot on the wall slightly above and behind Paul. His knuckles were white and even with as tightly as he held the material, his hands still shook violently from terror and the residual adrenaline that night's like this had often brought with them.

"Sweetheart, please, let me help you off the floor. We need to get you cleaned up." Paul was nearly begging now, afraid of the damage Alec may have done to himself in his panic and subsequent fall. "No." Hardy said quietly. Despondently. "No?" Paul clarified gently, wanting to make sure he'd heard him correctly. "No. Don't deserve it. 'M weak, an' useless, should sit here until I can figure it out for myself." His word's took Paul's breath away and he kept silent, knowing Alec wasn't done speaking just yet. Three years they'd been together and he knew all of Alec's faces and mannerisms. Knew all his sounds in and out of their bedroom. Knew that when he straightened his shoulder's and tipped his chin out, he was getting ready to speak again. Knew it would probably be something defiant.

"Bloody useless old cripple 's all I am now....worthless....hate it....." Hardy muttered angrily as he continued to hold the towels and shake. It was Paul's turn to cry now as he took in the scene playing out before him. His once strong, proud, towering husband, now rail thin and hunched, shaking in fear and pain and anger as he sat covered in sick and crying on their floor. And it had only taken the last six weeks, give or take, to defeat him this way. It felt like it could've been six years ago for how time seemed to have slowed down then stopped completely the day he'd gotten the call.


	2. Pulled From The Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul's phone buzzed on the table beside him and he smiled as he answered without looking at the screen. He assumed it was Alec calling to confirm their dinner plans for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I apparently forgot how tenses work, so I redid this entire chapter to fix it. Added some more here and there and onto the ending also since it turns out I hated how I had originally left it. 
> 
> Same warnings apply. Mind how you go. I'll hopefully add a third, and possibly final, chapter later. Or, depression will come for me and I'll add this to my list of stories that never quite left the ground.
> 
> We shall see.

******** Six Weeks Earlier ********

Paul's phone buzzed on the table beside him and he smiled as he answered without looking at the screen. He assumed it was Alec calling to confirm their dinner plans for that night. It was finally shaping up to be a slow week after a seemingly endless month of crime sprees and assaults in the area, and he was going to try and sneak away to take Paul somewhere nice for a change. His heart stopped though when instead of the thick Scottish burr that he was accustomed to, a brusque female voice greeted him and made it's unnecessary introduction.

It was CS Jenkinson, a voice he immediately recognized and had never, ever wanted to hear on the other line. Especially at 2:19pm on a Wednesday. Because her voice, at this time of day, could only mean one thing. His knees gave out as he collapsed onto their bedroom floor as she told him of the accident and where Alec had been taken. He vaguely registered hearing her talk about blood loss and shock and organ failure and "waiting to see.". Whatever the hell that meant. He wasn't sure if Ellie had come to get him on her own, or if he had managed to call her in his blind panic or if the CS had sent her. In any case, he stumbled out of their house and into her car, shaking and sobbing. He didn't even have it in him to tease her when she sped away before he'd even closed the car door, let alone buckled himself in.

He was so busy panicking and fearing the worst that he hadn't taken the time on the drive over to prepare himself for the sight that greeted him upon their arrival. Because he was in the ICU, only one person at a time was allowed inside the small room. Alec's face was a swollen mess, littered with cuts and bruises and his right arm was in a brace. Pins stuck out from more bruises and wires held his fingers in place. Tubes and electrical leads and bandages seemed to cover his pale chest and torso and as bad as all that was, *nothing* was as bad as the damage his legs had sustained. 

CS Jenkinson said that he'd been on his way to a routine call, meeting Ellie at an off-site location to question a suspect when it had all happened. He was crossing through a four way intersection, on his light, and had been t-boned on the driver's side by a petrol lorry nearly halfway through. The driver wasn't paying attention to the road and had blown through his own red light; he said when he glanced down, just before hitting the small sedan, that he was going at least 95 km/h. Alec's car had ended up crumpled underneath the lorry and it had taken them nearly an hour to cut him free and extricate him from the twisted wreckage. 

According to the medics on the scene, Alec had drifted in and out of consciousness the entire time and had alternated between angrily barking out orders from within the wreckage, to clinging to one of the medics with his shattered fingertips. When he stopped making noise at all, the medic had gently placed her hand atop his and said a silent prayer for his soul. Paul thanked whoever still cared that Ellie hadn't been with him that day because as bad as Alec was, there's no way she would've survived at all.

According to CS Jenkinson, the paramedics and Alec's Doctor's, he was indeed "lucky" to even be alive. But Paul knew as soon as he'd opened the doors and seen him that Alec may never view it that way. In addition to the bandages on his face, torso, arm and hand, his left leg was in a traction device, with pins and slings and pulleys holding it in place. His right leg though. His right leg told the story all too well. Paul knew now why he'd been trapped in the car so long. Why blood loss and shock and organ damage had all been mentioned. Why the paramedic, unable to see his face as they worked to free him, had prayed for his soul's eternal rest when he went quiet.

Because where his left leg was suspended, sutured and wired into place via a medieval looking device, his right one ended three inches above where his knee should have been. In its place was a swollen, misshapen, heavily bandaged residual limb, laid carefully on the bed and covered slightly with the sheet they'd placed over Alec's midsection as a scant measure of privacy from passersby.

Paul was numb and it took everything within him not to be sick as he stood there trying to absorb everything before him. Not because he was disgusted by his husband, certainly not. But because he knew Alec would be devastated by his initial lack of mobility, by the way he looked different, by the way he would assume people were whispering about him as he left a room. 

He was heartbroken for what Alec probably, hopefully, didn't even know he had lost yet. Heartbroken for the pain he would have to endure. He begged God or the Universe or whoever to not let it be so bad that his heart gave out again. He knew about phantom pain, having had a parishioner some time ago that had come back from fighting overseas missing an arm. Ultimately, the man had taken his own life in a final ditch effort to make the pain end. 

Paul shuddered and tightened his arms around himself, willing his mind to not even go there. For as contrite and churlish as Alec was, he was also headstrong and determined. Paul knew that if they could keep his pain under control and keep him from checking out mentally, they would have a good shot of keeping him from harming himself. Still, the thought lingered for longer than Paul was comfortable with.

He started, pulled suddenly from his thoughts by a weak cough sounding in the direction of Alec's bed. Slowly, almost reverently, Paul made his way to his side, running his hand gently through his husband's matted hair as deep brown eyes opened a fraction and met his own. Even partially closed, he could see the confusion, fear and pain swirling in Alec's eyes and felt powerless to quell any of it. All he could do was try to whisper comforting things as he continued to stroke Alec's hair. His breath hitched when his finger's brushed against fresh stitches. Alec let out a groan and tried to roll away as Paul struggled to maintain control of his emotions. 

This was only the beginning of their journey. He couldn't afford to break down now. Not yet.


	3. I Prayed So Hard...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** This chapter has much more talk of God and praying in it. If that skeeves you out, turn back now. Otherwise, enjoy. Also, ch. 4 is currently in the works and will be slightly happier. Thanks for the positive feedback so far, I sincerely appreciate it. And remember, I'm like a zoo bear, the more attention you give me, the more I'll entertain you :p

After what felt like a moment too long, Paul found his voice. "You are NOT any of those things. Don't you dare say cruel things about someone I love so dearly." Paul said as he pried the towels out of Alec's tight fists. Alec stared up at him, eyes still teary, but focused fully on Paul's own for the first time all night. "I-I am, though...I don't deser-".

"STOP. IT." Paul said, surprised by his own boldness. Alec clearly was too as he sat agape on the floor, shuddering as a single tear left his eye. "Please, love. Stop it." His tone was gentle now as he took Alec's empty, shaky hands and began to clean them up properly. He moved to clean his neck and chest as he started to speak again, this time making sure his voice stayed quiet and soft so as not to push Alec over the edge or frighten him. 

"Do you know what I thought, the day Jenkinson called me to tell me you'd been in a car accident?" Paul drew a trembling breath and continued, not giving Alec a chance to answer or protest or change the subject. "I thought, God, if you're even sort of still out there, if you care one iota for my sanity, or my sobriety or even for my soul, *do not take this man from me*." Paul stared at Alec's pale, bare skin as he cleaned it. Tears spilled from Alec's eyes and onto Paul's arms as Alec lowered his head and sniffled. "The whole way to the hospital, with Ellie, I begged and bartered and pleaded with some unseen entity and I listed out every single reason I could think of why you should be spared. Why you should live. And absolutely nothing I had thought of, or prayed for, prepared me for what I found when I walked into your room that day." His own hands were shaking now, and his voice cracked as he continued.

"I r-realized t-th-that everything I prayed for, everything I *begged* this unseen, unknown God force for was *selfish*. It was just for me. 'Please don't take him from *me*,' '*I* need him!'. Me. Me. ME!" Paul sobbed. Alec reached out unseeing and wrapped his arms around Paul, holding him tightly. Paul knew between balancing awkwardly on his legs, trying to hold him and dodge the puddle of sick still on the floor, Alec couldn't be comfortable, bit wasn't that just like him? Constantly putting someone else's comfort and wellbeing before his own?

He let Alec hold and comfort him a bit longer before drawing a shuddering breath and composing himself. He slowly pulled away and stood, holding his hands out to Alec. The other man only hesitated a moment before letting Paul hoist him off the floor and once he was up, Paul clung to him, carefully holding the majority of Alec's weight against himself and helping him stay balanced. Alec kissed the top of his head as Paul let go and wrapped an arm around his waist, slowly leading him back to their bed to sit down.

Paul knelt in front of Alec again, this time pausing for a brief second to breathe and get his thoughts in order. The weight of the moment was still nearly crushing him, but he couldn't let it pass without acknowledging it. "When...when I walked into your room, alone, and I saw you, I...I felt-I felt *horrible* for begging God to spare you. To-to let you live. Because I knew you'd be so angry and in *so* much pain when you woke up." Paul said, not even bothering to hold back his tears as he used Alec's lap as a makeshift confessional, hands resting on the bed on either side of his legs. 

"I realized how *selfish* I was for wanting you with me no matter what. And..." Paul sobbed and took a heaving breath in, "E-everytime y-you say how much you hate yourself, or how I shouldn't love you or help you, I can't help but feel guilty. It's like somehow, for once, my prayers actually were heard, but instead of being grateful, I feel miserable because you're miserable. I feel like it's my fault you're here and in pain and that you hate yourself." He said between sobs. "And I feel like you hate me, too, sometimes. Just for being here still..." he added quietly.

Alec remained silent through the entire speech, his constant sniffling the only other noise in the small room as Paul laid his burdens out before them. Paul's sleeves were wet where their tears had joined and stained the light grey fabric. Alec exhaled and suddenly crumpled in on himself, and Paul, barely managing to choke out " 'M sorry," before dissolving into another fit of hysterical sobbing. He clung to Paul for all he was worth, and Paul, in turn, held onto him more fiercely than he had ever held onto anything in his life.


	4. These Waking Hours Do Us In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I told you ch. 4 was in the works and that it was happier? Turns out that was accidentally a lie. Sorry 0_o

********Six Weeks Ago********

Paul was right, it seemed. Alec was indeed miserable as soon as he woke up. He was disoriented and had gone from agitated to angry to wracked with pain in quick succession. He'd thrashed aginst the nurses who had come to examine and medicate him, then curled in on himself and cried himself back into an exhausted, fitful sleep. He woke several more times throughout the evening and while he had gained more and more awareness each time, with awareness came an all consuming, excruciating pain. 

Paul had never witnessed such a thing before, and he selfishly hoped he never would again. Sometimes, Alec would sob and cry out for Paul. Other times, he would scream and push him away, begging to be left alone and not touched. Two days after the initial trauma, when the nurses came to change his bandages and check his sutures, Paul nearly broke. 

The doctor had ordered for a stronger dose of morphine to be administered thirty minutes prior to the procedure, so Alec was barely coherent as Paul sat quietly and held his hand. It was the first time either of them had seen the damage up close and it had all felt so distant and so surreal. His leg was still swollen and misshapen, and the staples stood out garishly against skin that was somehow pale yet bruised. A drainage tube was bandaged in place and Paul couldn't help but be worried at the amount of fluid that seemed to be snaking it's way through the tubing. 

Alec lay stone still, eyes transfixed on the sight that lay below him; So intimate and familiar, the sight of his own bare flesh, yet so alien in what was missing. This couldn't actually be happening, could it? It was all a dream, it had to be. "Paul?" The other man's head jerked up and towards Alec as his raspy voice broke the silence. 

"Yes, love, I'm here." Said Paul, as he gently squeezed his husband's hand. "Please? Please tell me this isn't happenin' and that 'M gonna wake up soon and this'll all be a bad dream..." Alec said hurriedly as he clutched desperately at the sheet that had been pulled up to his chest. He spoke again, voice small, eyes downcast; "I wanna go home. Please. Jus' take me home..." he slurred.

Paul stared, slack jawed and unblinking as fresh tears filled his eyes. This was the first coherent thought that Alec had strung together and verbalized since he'd been hospitalized and he was begging to go back to their home. "Oh, beloved, as soon as the doctor's say I can, I will. You know I will. But I can't now, not yet. Not yet." Paul gently reached up and brushed the tears from his husband's face as Alec sighed heavily and settled back into his pillows. He didn't speak again, opting instead to stare blankly at the ceiling, or the wall behind the nurses. Anywhere but at Paul or his own leg. 

He trembled as they quickly finished cleaning and dressing his leg and thirty minutes later, Paul was surprised to find that Alec had actually fallen asleep again at some point. He had been so engrossed with the process that he hadn't noticed Alec's grip softening, or his head lolling to the side as he'd drifted off. He felt slightly guilty, like he had been gawking at Alec without even realizing it, but he justified it by telling himself that he needed to see and learn as much as he could while they were still here. 

The next time the nurses came to change his dressings and check his staples, Paul had expected it would go as smoothly as it had the first time. Alec was awake and fairly lucid and he had even seemed to be paying attention as Paul reminded Alec of what the nurses would do when they arrived after breakfast. Paul noticed that the doctor had not ordered extra morphine this time, but didn't say anything, assuming that the doctor had her reason's. Paul was, after all, not the professional in this situation. He let it slide and immediately regretted it the moment the head nurse touched Alec's residual limb. 

Paul's stomach dropped and his heart raced as Alec screamed and writhed under their gentle ministrations. He struggled and sobbed as they cleaned his sutures, begging them to please stop. He pleaded with Paul, not understanding why he wasn't helping him, why he would continue to let them hurt him. He slipped into a disassociative headspace and was convinced that he was being tortured and burned with acid. 

Eventually, the nurses gave him additional medication and, topped out on morphine and sedatives, the stress was too great for him to endure; He passed out and lost consciousness and Paul was secretly grateful for it. It gave him a moment to step into the adjacent bathroom and cry until he was physically sick from it. 

He splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth and quietly took his customary seat at his husband's bedside. Even in his sleep, Alec's brow was damp with sweat and pain creased his face as he continued to flinch and whimper. As the nurses finished drying and rebandaging his leg, one stopped and looked at Paul with a sympathetic smile. "It won't always be this way. I promise." He returned a tight lipped smile and nodded his head in understanding. He didn't trust himself to speak and relief washed over him as she turned to leave.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Alec's feverish temple, quietly reassuring him and whispering apologies. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so, so sorry. I should've made sure you had pain medicine before they started. I'm so, so sorry. I'm supposed to be your advocate. I'm so, so sorry, I'll do better next time....".

Paul stayed like that, leaning awkwardly from chair to bed, mumbling into Alec's ear, stroking his hair, kissing his temple and squeezing his hand gently until he fell into a restless slumber. As Paul drifted off, he felt Alec's hand move to his own hair and was grateful that his husband couldn't see the tears that slipped from his closed eyes.


End file.
